


The Stories October Wrote

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Meetings, Fluff, Ghosts, Horror, Investigations, Kidnapping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Murder, Post-Canon, Subtle Romance, Trans Male Character, Trans Pregnancy Mention, Trans!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:27:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: A series of halloween-themed/horror-inspired ficlets, updated every Wednesday of October.





	1. Fic Index

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed tags and summaries. Some ficlets deal with subject matter that could be considered extremely disturbing. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Thank you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Index [Edited]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edit]: I've changed the theme of fourth upload a million times. I apologize! I am constantly inspired by different ideas. However, I've finally settled on the one below.

.a ghost story - " _Connor’s corpse was found weeks after he was reported missing, washed up onto Belle Isle’s shore one nondescript morning."_ Nines investigates the mysterious circumstances surrounding Connor's death. [CW: Character Death]

 

Devotion - _"Where were you?” Connor hissed, despite liquid desire pooling in his belly._

 _Hank rolled his eyes and a tic formed in his whisker-less jowl. He folding his arms, causing his shirt to tighten over his pectorals. (Connor’s mouth watered.) “Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit.”_ Connor interrogates Hank after he comes home late. [CW: Murder, Kidnapping] 

 

The House October Built  - _"...one of the few activities Cole could still enjoy guiltlessly was participating in his school district’s “Haunted Fright Night”. The annual fundraiser had usually been attended by both Sara and Cole, but the divorce had rendered her with little desire for the family activities she had once tolerated. Without even the barest of excuses, she declined to participate._

 

 _Rather than suffer Cole’s disappointment, Hank did the only sensible thing a father (in the middle of a contentious custody battle) would do: reluctantly take their child to their treasured event."_ Single-dad Hank meets Connor, the cute android dressed as a ghost, at a haunted house. [CW: None] _Upload Scheduled 10/17/2018_

 

Halloween - _"At first glance, the object appeared to be a bloody clump of fur, sinew and detritus, roughly the size of Hank’s entire hand. A slashed squirrel perhaps?_

_Quite impressive, if that were the case, Connor thought as he took another sip of his coffee. Should it be Niles’ newest handiwork, it was a massive leap from ripping off the wings of small insects."_

Connor's son, Niles, was conceived on October 31st. [CW: Dubious Consent, Trans!Connor, Trans Pregnancy Mention]  _Upload Scheduled 10/24/2018  
_

 

The Long Walk Home - On Halloween, Connor has to escort a lost trick-or-treater back home. [CW: None] _Upload Scheduled 10/31/2018_


	2. .a ghost story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Connor’s corpse was found weeks after he was reported missing, washed up onto Belle Isle’s shore one nondescript morning." Nines investigates the mysterious circumstances surrounding Connor's death. [CW: Character Death]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Totally forgot to credit inspiration!! 
> 
> Inspired by Lake Mungo

Connor’s corpse was found weeks after he was reported missing, washed up onto Belle Isle’s shore one nondescript morning. Eyes closed, hands clasped over his chest, lips formed into an easy line, he almost appeared  _ relaxed _ , as if he were sunbathing. The untrained eye could have easily believed he allowed the waves of the Detroit River to lap against him in an effort to cool down from the summer sun. 

 

The dull light of October greeted investigators upon examining the remains. 

 

The Detroit Police Department, for all their championing of “Android Rights”, saw Connor as an easy case. Fowler was retired. Anderson was dead. Reed and Nines were barred due to their personal relationship with the “deceased”. There was nothing stopping a pair of rookie detectives from jumping to severe conclusions just in time to get out of the autumn chill.  

 

Officially, it was considered a suicide; a deviant had become self-destructive after the passing of its romantic partner and jumped off Ambassador Bridge. Case Closed. 

 

They never bothered to look into the preceding month.

 

* * *

 

_ “I think something terrible is going to happen to me.” _

 

_ Nines was a stranger to shock, the sensation so foreign it nearly sent him falling from his chair to the floor. He whipped his chin around to face Connor, sitting beside him in the DPD break room. Head down and slouched, his hands fidgeted with a small toy Hank had given him years ago.  _

 

_ “Have you told the Lieutenant?” Nines asked, voice a near whisper, as if the conversation had turned shameful.  _

 

_ Connor shook his head. “I have no proof. I don’t even have a suspect. Just a feeling. In any case, he would tell me that he’d protect me and not to worry about it.”  _

 

_ Nines shivered; Connor’s eyes looked as haunted as an android’s possibly could. _

 

* * *

 

 

Reed’s way of coping with loss was to pretend it was merely an inconvenience - nothing more. Nines allowed his catharsis, despite how irritating it was to hear him complain about moving the Andersons’ things into a storage unit for the  _ fourteenth _ time. His latest maledy was his stomach. 

 

“We’re almost done,” Nines assured him, tone cool, just on the other side of flippant. “Then you can eat something.” 

 

Reed grumbled something unintelligible as he carried a box of books out the front door of Hank’s former residence. (While Hank wasn’t one to hoard paper books, per se, Connor seemed fond of their feel, their smell, nostalgic for a time he would never know. An ache spread from Nines thirium pump to the ends of his body at the thought.)

 

Nines placed two cardboard boxes, filled with clothes they intended to donate, on either shoulder and raced to catch up to his partner. As he passed the walkway, Nines took note of a book laying haphazardly on the ground, pages spread unceremoniously against the asphalt, spine turned towards the sky:  _ The History of Spirit Folklore _ . 

 

* * *

 

Reed told him not to invest too much time on the lines, written in deliberately imperfect CyberLife Sans, discovered within the newfound tome. Despite the warning, the tempation had been too much; he was a detective built for uncovering mysteries, after all. And, this certainly was a quandary. 

 

Why was Connor so interested in these human myths? 

 

Tiny notes accompanied highlighted passages on harbinger spirits, ghouls that foretold doom, and omens of impending tragedy.

 

_ “Can androids see ghosts?” “Do androids have souls?” “If ghosts do not exist on a parallel timeline, could they, in theory, come from the future?”  _

 

Interesting. A very interesting notion, indeed. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “I think something terrible is going to happen to me.”  _

 

* * *

 

Nines was not one to “leave well enough alone.” His brother’s death had been cast aside too readily, even after he provided additional evidence, relaying the conversation he had with him two weeks before his disappearance. After a near month of denied requests for re-examination, Nines “stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, like always.” 

 

Hank Anderson died of a cerebral embolism on August 23rd 2053. Yet, from Connor’s diagnostic logs, it would appear that his stress levels had exponentially increased each day in the thirty-one days leading up to the lieutenant’s untimely demise. Even with the most advanced anatomical analyzation software, it would have been impossible for Connor to predict such a death; so why had his anxiety been elevated? 

 

Nines did not believe in coincidences. Connor must have seen a  _ metaphorical _ specter of death looming over them at some point. Could someone have wanted Hank and Connor killed? Made it look like a case of “natural causes” followed by a suicide, respectively? 

 

There was only one way to find out. 

* * *

 

It became more and more difficult to find time to watch the full memory of the days leading up to Connor’s theorized premonition. 

 

Once Gavin received his diagnosis, Nines remained by his side without fail. The threat of vomit, piss and shit hadn’t deterred him from following him to where his partner needed to go: chemo room, bedroom, bathroom, anywhere. It was only during a brief merciful reprieve granted by Gavin’s waning illness, that Nines used his resting hours to create an algorithm that would comb through the footage to mark points of possible interest. This way, he reasoned, he could attend to Gavin while also honoring Connor. 

 

After a couple of weeks of optimization, the algorithm finally flagged an event that occurred a handful of minutes before Connor’s stress levels had jumped. At night, in the darkness of Gavin’s room, Nines had forgone stasis to pull the clip onto his HUD. 

 

Black. Understandable. According to the time marker, the visual memory had been recorded in the early of hours of that morning. 

 

Then, the sound of creaking filled Nines ears.  _ Creak. Creak. Creak _ . It had the same cadence as pacing footsteps. Connor blinked awake with a gasp. 

 

Connor turned towards Hank, and for a brief moment, he simply stared. The creaking did not end, but the other man did not react. Rather, he continued to snore into the pillow his arms crushed against his head and chest. Seemingly satisfied, Connor slithered out of their bed. 

 

In the hallway, Connor used the light of the full moon, filtering in from the living room, to find and pull a cord from the ceiling. It came down to reveal a staircase. Directly above him, a pool of blackness greeted he android at the opening of his attic. 

 

Nines swallowed; Connor had hesitated. Was he ...afraid? 

 

It took a moment, but Connor did walk up the stairs and into the inky darkness. For a brief second, the feed became pitch black once more, until a clicking could be heard. Light filled the space; the creaking, as if expelled by the illumination, stopped. Connor focused on the cardboard boxes and totes stacked a few feet before him. 

 

“Cole?” Nines heard Connor call out with a softness that squeezed his thirium pump. “Has that been you these last few nights? Your dad tells me you used to love playing up here.” 

 

With a shaking voice, Connor continued, “I-I’ve been ...having dreams of you. Has that - I don’t mind. I would have - I love playing with you.” 

 

That was odd. Androids did not dream. They installed updates, organized files, reviewed tasks, but they did not dream in the traditional sense. Could Connor have been hallucinating? Could a bug have somehow made it into his code? Caused a mental health problem? 

 

Suddenly, from behind the pile of disorganization,  _ something _ jumped and rushed at Connor. (Nines gripped the sheets beneath him, startled.)  _ It _ , whatever  _ it _ was, appeared humanoid in shape, tall despite its severe hunch. The pale creature, open-mouthed in a silent scream, did not extend its arms or assume a pose suited for attack. Instead, it ran towards Connor as if he were in its way. 

 

When it was mere inches from the feed, Nines, in spite of the pulsing beneath the surface of his faux skin, paused the video. Though near-white, eyes hollowed out, maw gaping unnaturally, its features were unmistakable. 

 

It was Connor, dripping wet and marred by debris. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “Sometimes, I feel as if something bad has already happened, and it’s just trying to catch up to me.”  _

  
  


* * *

 

Nines came out of stasis with a start. 

 

In the weeks after dropping his investigation, Nines “dreamed” of conversations with Connor that had never taken place in reality. His brother always seemed so sad in these fantasies, gazing at him with eyes filled with condolence, (the same expression Gavin’s nurses directed at him.) It was disconcerting. 

 

_ Creak. Creak. Creak _ . Light footsteps emanated from approximately somewhere within the kitchen of Reed’s apartment. 

 

In the briefest heartbeat, Nines felt a flutter of hope that, maybe, possibly, Gavin was strong enough to move around on his own. He was  _ getting better _ . Those notions were crushed under the weight of Gavin’s prescience beside him. 

 

Nines couldn’t escape the image of his partner, his sunken cheeks barely visible above the bundle of thick blankets cocooning him. They were to give him the warmth his body could no longer provide. The man shivered still; the blankets provided little comfort against the disease literally sucking the meat from his bones. 

 

A flash of anger burst through his circuitry. How dare an intruder threaten Gavin’s precious rest? Threaten to take his things? Threaten to take the rest of his life, quickly trickling from between his bony fingers? 

 

As the footsteps continued, Nines shot out of their shared bed,  as silent as could be, and haltingly opened the door, lest it squeak. He padded into the kitchen with quiet determination. 

 

There, between the stove and the island, he found a creature, hunched yet imposing, with a haunting, hollow stare. 

 

It ran.

 

* * *

 

 

Gavin Reed passed away from colon cancer thirty-one days later. 


	3. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Where were you?” Connor hissed, despite liquid desire pooling in his belly._
> 
> _Hank rolled his eyes and a tic formed in his whisker-less jowl. He folding his arms, causing his shirt to tighten over his pectorals. (Connor’s mouth watered.) “Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit.”_ Connor interrogates Hank after he comes home late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied Kidnapping and Murder

It wasn’t Connor’s turn to do the dishes, and yet, hot water rushed over his fingers as he scrubbed a single plate of its remaining detritus. He narrowed his eyes over the soapy residue spilling into the drain, resentful of its presence before him. 

 

Rather than attend to the kitchen, Connor should have been a bard, weaving a tale for his daughter at bedtime. Instead, Hank took up the mantle, a means to regain the time lost by his tardiness home. A tardiness for which he had no explanation for. 

 

Fantasies of twisting bodies and erotic sounds played unbidden in Connor’s head, filling him with the urge to tear out Hank’s bright blonde curls and sky blue eyes. An animalistic snarl formed behind his curled lips.

 

Just as he turned off the water to the sink with a harsh flick of the wrist, a pair of strong, masculine arms wrapped around his middle. Connor was pulled tightly against a familiar broad chest. Warm lips latched onto the cool junction between Connor’s shoulder and neck. 

 

Connor pushed the wrists over his waist down, away from him. He twisted around to throw every dagger of malice he had at his spouse; that was a mistake. 

 

Hank’s aesthetic appeal always caught him off guard; the man was a physical contradiction of utter beauty. Serene eyes and thick, kissable lips were set into a visage that was chiseled by a sturdy nose and sizable jaw. Soft, youthful skin spoke of his impulsivity and quickness to anger, yet his large, calloused hands betrayed wisdom and an admirable work ethic. He was built to be large and imposing, intimidating enemies and impassioning loved ones. 

 

Oh, and impassion he did, especially clad in a form-fitting dress shirt, shoulder holster, and trim slacks. Connor wasn’t quite sure if the flames of rage or lust burned through him. Maybe both? 

 

“Where were you?” Connor hissed, despite liquid desire pooling in his belly. 

 

Hank rolled his eyes and a tic formed in his whisker-less jowl. He folding his arms, causing his shirt to tighten over his pectorals. (Connor’s mouth watered.) “Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit.”

 

Before Connor could storm away, Hank grasped his upper arms, keeping Connor in place.  “Sweetheart,” Hank nearly purred, his deep tenor rumbling through Connor as if he spoke from within his chest. “Answer me: when you still thought you were a machine, what did I do? Huh?” 

 

Connor let out a breath through his nose as he tapped his foot against the kitchen linoleum. He contemplated the merits of being childish, curtailing this game Hank was attempting to start with silence. The satisfaction would not outweigh the positives. “You - you finally convinced me I was alive,” he answered after a moment.  

 

Hank nodded with a burgeoning smile; it brightened his expression in a way that was completely unfair in this fight.  “And I helped you incite a revolution, didn’t I? And when I was dying, and you said you couldn’t live without me, what happened then?” 

 

Connor bit the corner of his bottom lip in an attempt to tamp down his own growing smile. “You became an android for me.” 

 

“That’s right,” Hank replied softly. “And when you wanted a kid, what happened?” 

 

Connor, though indignant, allowed some giddiness from the invoked memory to escape in the form of a giggle. “You got me one.” 

 

“Right,” Hank began. “So, why would I throw that all away to have an unsatisfying fuck? Huh? I’ve got the most beautiful android in the world waiting for me at home. Ain’t no floozy gonna convince me otherwise.” 

 

Connor, magnetized, succumbed to the molten kiss Hank enveloped him in. Though its heat temporarily fogged his mind, it didn’t stop his processors from focusing on the question at hand: “Where were you?” Connor asked as soon as they parted. At Hank’s eye roll, Connor added, “Come on! What am I supposed to think? You’re so handsome, and kind, and witty - it’s only a matter of time before someone else is bound to notice.” 

 

Instead of  the grin Connor expected to summon, Hank’s lips stretched into a thin line.  _ Uh oh. _ A hot flash of anxiety spread through his chassis. 

 

“I got a report that officers were called to the -  uh - old neighborhood,” Hank replied with a drawn-out sigh. 

 

No! Connor felt the earth fall from beneath his feet. Where he was hot, he suddenly felt cold. Every conceivable scenario pre-constructed itself before him with a sickening amount of detail. “Hank, no! What if they find them? What will happen to our daughter if -?” 

 

Hank’s hands travelled from the meat of Connor’s arms to his slender shoulders. “Relax, babe. I went to the scene and it just turned out that Mrs. Fischer died.” 

 

“Oh no,” Connor gasped, both relieved and saddened. “She was so nice.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank added quietly, eyes straying towards the ceiling rather than on Connor. It was a tell, a very obvious one. His husband was nervous. “But, listen, it might be time we finally move to Seattle, like we talked about. Start fresh, you know? So we’re not always worrying about  _ them _ .”  

 

Connor grinned; he was listening. 


	4. The House October Built

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...one of the few activities Cole could still enjoy guiltlessly was participating in his school district’s “Haunted Fright Night”. The annual fundraiser had usually been attended by both Sara and Cole, but the divorce had rendered her with little desire for the family activities she had once tolerated. Without even the barest of excuses, she declined to participate.
> 
>  
> 
> Rather than suffer Cole’s disappointment, Hank did the only sensible thing a father (in the middle of a contentious custody battle) would do: reluctantly take their child to their treasured event." Single-dad Hank meets Connor, the cute android dressed as a ghost, at a haunted house. [CW: None]

The final nail in the coffin for Sara’s tolerance of Halloween, Hank supposed, was the dissolution of their marriage. 

 

Truthfully, neither of them had ever been particularly fond of the holiday -  until Cole came along. Before his unexpected birth, annually, the thirty-first of October would be spent hiding from costumed children within their darkened apartment, waiting the evening out until their impatient knocking had ceased. 

 

God bless Cole. He was certainly the odd one of the bunch, delighting in all manner of the macabre and horrific for the sake of All Hallows’ Eve. His ardor had somewhat inspired the couple to take the night for what it was - harmless, nostalgic fun - even as Cole grew older. Though the years rolled by, his enthusiasm never waned; as a cool twelve-year-old, his only qualm about Halloween was the scarcity of trick-or-treating in his future.

 

Nevertheless, one of the few activities Cole could still enjoy guiltlessly was participating in his school district’s “Haunted Fright Night”. The annual fundraiser would normally be attended by both Sara and Cole, but the divorce had rendered her with little desire for the family activities she had once tolerated. Without even the barest of excuses, she declined to participate. 

 

Rather than suffer Cole’s disappointment, Hank did the only sensible thing a father (in the middle of a contentious custody battle) would do: reluctantly take their child to their treasured event. 

 

As Hank and Cole made their way through a packed parking lot and to the front of the flagship high school, Hank couldn’t help but find himself becoming more and more obnoxious about the occasion. 

 

The lieutenant couldn’t suspend his disbelief long enough to feel any sort of thrill about the “spooky” attraction. First, it billed itself as a fundraiser on the banner - not very frightening for anything other than his wallet. Second, despite the meandering ghouls teasing what was to come, it was difficult to take them seriously while their nearby chaperones shouted the rules of conduct. 

 

At five bucks a pop, it wasn’t like he was spending enough money to feel upset by it. Just bored. Incredibly bored. (For the sake of warding off tedium, Hank found himself a willing participant in a conversation about budgeting for Thanksgiving dinner and holiday presents.  _ Oh God _ , help him.) 

 

Entering the gym-turned-haunt did little to change his disposition. If anything, the misaligned black canvas, child-sized “hallways”, and box store decorations enforced his disbelief. The “monsters”, unable to touch their willing victims, merely screeched in their direction as they walked by. The sounds set Cole’s nerves off each time, causing him to jump and cling to his father. Hank, on the other hand, rarely had a day where screaming was not a part of it, in some horrific sort; it took a lot more than mere loudness to frighten him. 

 

At least the school district had the budget for one cool ornament, Hank mused as he approached a ghostly figure at the end of yet another makeshift hallway. It was deathly still, probably a statue, but quite lifelike. 

 

Unconsciously, Hank’s concentration settled solely on the prop. Its features were the most striking combination of hard, masculine lines and soft, feminine curves. Long faux eyelashes carrassed the curves of its unblemished and highly-set cheeks. A straight nose cut through its round visage, ending bluntly over a set of kissable lips. Its cleft jaw was neither too strong or weak, too imposing or impassive; it was simply perfect. 

 

Once upon a time, Hank may have been attracted to people who appeared similarly to the statue, but that was a long time ago. 

 

Suddenly, the statue opened its eyes, and Hank fell backwards.  

 

* * *

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

Hank groaned.

 

Consciousness came back to Hank in small stages. First, his hearing returned, though the speaking voices were forced to compete with the cotton that must have been stuffed in his ears. Then, harsh light began to infiltrate through his fluttering eyelids. Awareness returned with a jarring force, and with it his memory of the moment before he drowned in blackness. 

 

Ironic that he would wake to the same angel that smote him. 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” the grey-caked angel spoke again just as his vision righted itself. “My name is Connor. I apologize, but you fell back and hit your head after I startled you.” 

 

Hank groaned once more in response. 

 

“You are in the nurse’s office. You appear to have suffered a minor concussion. Not to worry, you should be fine, but I advise that you have another adult monitor you for neurological symptoms should you need medical attention.” 

 

No human spoke with as much precision and deliberateness as Connor did. No human could suspend their breathing to appear as though they were another spooky decoration as Connor had. Hell, no human was as beautiful as Connor. The only logical conclusion was that this person was an android of some sort. 

 

Hank opened his mouth to confirm his suspicions, but his son interrupted him with a quick declaration of, “My dad is divorced. Like, super, super divorced. Single as can be. All alone except for me, and since I’m just a kid, we’ll need someone to take us home and look after us.” 

 

What the hell? Was his child trying to set Hank up? 

 

Connor’s lips quirked in a small smile. “If that’s the case, I’ll clean up and take you two home. If that’s alright with you, Lieutenant?” 

 

There were so many statements Hank wanted to make. Yet, the one his injured brain focused on was, “How do you know I’m a Lieutenant?” 

 

“I scanned you,” Connor explained. “Before the revolution, I was a detective-grade android. Now, I’m the resource officer at this school.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

Connor must have taken that as an affirmation of his plan, because before Hank could make any protest, the android stepped inside the hall, only to appear a few minutes later, make up-free, wearing a dress shirt and slacks. Trimmed up, Connor was even more attractive than Hank had initially surveyed, much to his dick’s sudden interest. 

 

Huh, maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my life blood! 
> 
> If you wanna yell at me, please do so at @faequill on both twitter and tumblr


	5. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At first glance, the object appeared to be a bloody clump of fur, sinew and detritus, roughly the size of Hank’s entire hand. A slashed squirrel perhaps?_
> 
> _Quite impressive, if that were the case, Connor thought as he took another sip of his coffee. Should it be Niles’ newest handiwork, it was a massive leap from ripping off the wings of small insects._
> 
> Connor's son, Niles, was conceived on October 31st. [CW: Dubious Consent, Trans!Connor, Trans Pregnancy Mention]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I was inspired by Halloween (2018). No, I'm not a serial killer fucker.

Connor awoke to the pleasant aroma of fresh coffee. He blinked away the sleep from his eyes as he rolled over, turning toward his nightstand. As expected, a steaming mug awaited the FBI profiler, lettered with a cheesy, “World’s Best Husband.” 

 

A smile stretched the line of Connor’s mouth. He sat up before taking the offering and bringing it to his lips. At first careful sip, consciousness truly came back to him, making him cognizant of the cheerful conversation filtering through from the outside.  

 

Niles and Hank. 

 

Connor couldn’t quite discern the distinct words that were being said, but Hank’s kind, fatherly tone was familiar enough. Odds were, Hank was guiding Niles through another  _ lesson _ . 

 

Connor spent another few moments allowing his full awareness to return before slipping out of bed and proceeding to the kitchen. There, through the window, he could see Hank placing an object into an awaiting hole in their backyard garden; quite the odd sight in the middle of autumn. 

 

At first glance, the object appeared to be a bloody clump of fur, sinew and detritus, roughly the size of Hank’s entire hand. A slashed squirrel perhaps? 

 

Quite impressive, if that were the case, Connor thought as he took another sip of his coffee. Should it be Niles’ newest handiwork, it was a massive leap from ripping off the wings of small insects.

 

Hank moved a pile of soil and fallen leaves over the decrepit creature, patting the new mound in place with a gentle hand. He then turned to Niles to bestow upon him a high-five with his clean hand. Their son giggled in triumph. 

 

Connor grinned; what a beautiful image of father and son. 

 

* * *

 

The seemingly endless stream of “Babysitter Hunter” documentaries marked the beginning of October. As tiresome as they could be, Connor felt a sense of satisfaction in knowing his husband’s near-decade long career as a serial killer was still appreciated so many years after his retirement.

 

On the couch, snuggled against his husband’s broad chest, Connor reached over his shoulder to take Hank’s chin in hand. His fingers brushed through the course hair of his graying beard. He was rewarded for his efforts with Hank’s deep reverberating purring. Mm, yes, this beast was an absolute pet in his hands. 

 

“Do you miss it?” Connor asked, almost absent-mindedly, as a narrator highlighted Hank’s third known victim. 

 

Hank shook his head against Connor’s palm. “That night I found you, I knew it was time to pass down the mantel to the next generation. I knew you’d take such care good care of my babies, seeing you so protective of that little girl you were watching. Not like those other bitches who ran at the first sign of danger.” 

 

Connor shifted as warmth pooled between his legs; the memory still evoked a visceral physical reaction.

 

At first, he had been so frightened of the figure standing over Alice, his charge that evening. As a criminal psychology major, he had read up on the “Babysitter Hunter” case, studied it with an almost obsessive vigor, knew his behavior as if it were his own. Therefore, Connor knew he posed no threat to the little girl, but the evening would not leave the last-minute caretaker unscathed. 

 

With the same breath Connor whispered to the murderer, pleading to be killed discretely, to spare Alice such a trauma, he silently cursed his foolish decision. Connor knew watching the little girl on Halloween night was an unnecessary risk. No one else dared to provoke this annual boogie man. Yet, despite Connor’s common sense, Kara had pulled at his heartstrings, pleading for the young student to watch her while she took a much needed extra shift at work. 

 

Connor would later find meeting this hunter to be the best foolish decision he had ever made. In Kara’s room, while Alice slept unaware, the murderer touched him with such a soft hand, worshipping his body tenderly, lavishing him with a lover’s care. The murderer wrought his first orgasm with his deft fingers before delving inside with his cock, clearly unprotected. This had been premeditated; the killer intended for Connor to be a vessel for his child, and that notion had caused the young student to sob in undeniable pleasure. 

 

The horror of the situation hadn’t struck him until after Connor hesitantly rolled up his sweat-soaked mask off of his face. Professor Anderson! His favorite educator had ...they… he …

 

_ Don’t worry _ , Hank had said against his lips,  _ I’ll take care of you, both of you.  _

 

“Someone’s getting hot,” Hank chuckled, a deep tenor spilling from his grin. “You want to head to bed?”

 

Connor bit his lip and nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to like, comment and subscribe!


	6. The Long Walk Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Halloween, Connor has to escort a lost trick-or-treater back home. [CW: None]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not beta-ed! If you see any mistakes, please let me know! 
> 
> Thanks! Have a Happy Halloween! Now I gotta scary and make some treat bags for the kids.

Connor knocked on Captain Reed’s glass door. 

 

Reed did not take his eyes off his terminal. Nevertheless, he beckoned Connor with a small wave of his hand. The android took the invitation, with a little more force than intended, barreling into the office on the heels of his irritation. 

 

Connor stood firm just before the captain’s desk. “You didn’t schedule me for Halloween night,” he stated without a greeting. 

 

Reed closed his eyes and blew air through his nose. “That’s right.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

Reed threw a sharp look at Connor. “Because you’ve been on shift the last six Halloweens,” the captain answered with a small sigh. He leaned back in his desk chair. “And the last six Thanksgivings, and Christmases, and New Years…” 

 

“Captain,” Connor bit out. “You know very well-”

 

“- Halloween used to be your favorite holiday? And maybe, just maybe, your family is worried about you? Might like seeing you celebrate it again? Yeah, I know. ” The captain ran his fingers through his greying hair; it was a familiar tic as of late. 

 

At the mention of family, Connor clenched his jaw. “Nines put you up to this, didn’t he?” 

 

“No,” Reed simply stated. His eyes did not stray from Connor’s.  

 

A part of Connor, a large part, appreciated the sentiment that was silently communicated; Reed, too, had been concerned for Connor. Regardless, the other part of Connor wanted to punch his scarred nose in. 

 

“Captain, if I may, I’d like to work Halloween this year -” Reed opened his mouth to interrupt, but Connor continued unbidden, “- but I promise I’ll spend the upcoming holidays with you all. I just need some time to get myself together.” 

 

Reed blinked. “Fine,” he spat after a heartbeat of silence. “But if Nines asks, you threatened to quit if you didn’t get to work.” 

 

“Of course, Gavin.” Connor was unable to keep a wry smile from stretching his lips. 

 

“It’s ‘captain’, dipshit, now get the fuck out of my office,” Reed chuckled before throwing a stress ball in the android’s direction. 

 

Connor laughed as he made his way out of the captain's glass cage. 

* * *

  
  


Connor received a notification of a lost child searching for his parents.

 

Thankfully, no one else seemed willing to accommodate the request for assistance, giving Connor a much-needed reprieve from a rather uneventful Halloween night. 

 

When he got to the residence that placed the emergency call, a quivering boy, dressed, ironically, as a police officer, was huddled between a pair of elderly women. His small, hiccuping sobs echoed throughout their small porch, a saddening juxtaposition to the laughter from further down the street. Despite the obvious trauma the boy was experiencing, his little hands clutched at his treat bag possessively, as if someone threatened to take it from him at any moment.  Priorities, of course.

 

Connor approached as cautiously as possible, unwilling to spook the boy further with his usual domineering presence. Wisely, he did not attempt to smile, but loosened his expression into something more casual, caring. 

 

“Good evening,” he greeted the women before kneeling in front the small child. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but I think it's obvious you just want to head home, huh?” 

 

The blond boy pouted and shook his head. With a tiny voice, he protested,“I want to keep trick-or-treating.” 

 

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle. Truly, this boy had his priorities in order. 

 

“We’ll see what your mom and dad say about that once we find them,” Connor responded. “My name is Lieutenant Anderson, by the way. Can I have your name?” 

 

The boy’s face brightened. To Connor’s relief, a smile replaced the boy’s previous pout and his beautiful blue eyes sparkled with mirth rather than tears. “My name’s Henry.” 

 

Suddenly, a sharp pain radiated from Connor’s chest as his thirium pump seemed to contort unnaturally. It took a herculean amount of effort to not let the hurt show on his visage, lest he disappointed the adorable child before him. But, even after so many years, hearing  _ his _ name, any form of it, brought on a suffering that was just on the side of bearable.

 

It was made all the worse when he realized this child shared features strikingly similar to another boy, one he had come to know through his father, one he had lost even before he had a chance to meet him.

 

“Henry,” Connor choked softly. “That’s my favorite name.” 

 

Henry giggled. 

* * *

True to Connor’s word, twenty Halloweens had come and gone before he requested to be on shift for another one. Surely, Captain Collin Reed could use the company, as he would, undoubtedly, also be on duty.  

 

Nines dealt with grief just as well as Connor did. As a matter-of-fact, Connor wasn’t quite sure if Nines had ever returned home after Gavin’s funeral. Every second Connor had spent in the precinct since then, Nines had also been there, a looming shadow over the bullpen.  

 

Connor would allow him  his catharsis until Nine’s daughters inevitably called their uncle to check on him. 

 

In the meantime, Connor, at the behest of Nine’s instant message, walked into his office. (If Nines took issue with his request to be on call, at the very least, he could point out his hypocrisy in a bid to get his brother home to rest.) 

 

Instead, however, there was an unfamiliar individual sitting in front of Nines, back facing Connor as the android stepped forward. Even from behind, Connor could pre-construct that this blonde male was a broad-shouldered, hulking creature in a rather stereotypical duster jacket. A new detective? 

 

The stranger rolled his shoulders back to turn in his chair. Connor suppressed a gasp. 

 

Hank! A younger, healthier, less-withered version of him, but it was him nonetheless. His recognition software couldn’t mistake those sharp lines and masculine features. And when he smiled, there was an adorable gap between his two front teeth. 

 

“You recognize me, huh?” Hank asked with a chuckle. Connor, stricken, remained silent, mouth-gaping uselessly. “The kid you saved on Halloween a long time ago?” 

 

Disappointment chilled his insides. The kid? Oh, Henry. Yes. Goodness, it was such a  _ coincidence _ . 

 

Truthfully, as a detective, he didn’t believe in such notions, but there was no other logical explanation. (Unless, somehow, the concept of human reincarnation was true. Ha, how silly.)

 

“I - uh, yes, I remember,” Connor finally stammered. His eyes turned to Nines, who simply smirked and allowed the scene play 

 

Hank’s lookalike extended his hand toward Connor. “It’s nice to see you again, Connor.” 

 

Connor took the hand given to him. “Likewise, Henry.” 

 

Henry chuckled; the rich, deep, reverberating sound was so achingly familiar. 

 

“I go by Hank now.” 


End file.
